


Death Sentence

by disparity



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-10-04 09:46:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10274054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disparity/pseuds/disparity
Summary: Dawn breaks over Highever, and Elissa is running.A conversation between F!Cousland and Duncan.





	

Teryn Cousland lies dead of treachery. His wife, stubbornness. (The bards would say love, but the bards know nothing of Eleanor Cousland.) Their firstborn prepares for a battle that will quickly become a slaughter; he does not imagine that his own wife and son lay murdered in their beds. And why should he? They were safe in Highever just hours ago, protected by loyal guardsmen, high stone walls, and the one-woman army that is Elissa Cousland.

But as dawn breaks, Elissa is running.

There is no shame in retreating from an unwinnable battle. She will never claim the honor of sacrificing herself for principles or loved ones; her life is worth too much.

It’s been a long night. Her voice is hoarse, little more than a murmur when she says, “You seem an honorable man, Duncan.”

“And you a courageous young woman.” He walks beside her, as if they are equals. But she has no equal; she is alone. “You have suffered a terrible injustice. I regret that there is so little time for respite before you must face your next battle.”

“I don’t.” She can feel his eyes on her; she watches her feet trudge along the path, feeling oddly disconnected from them. “I know my father regarded you highly.”

“And I him,” says Duncan sadly. “We were friends for many years.”

She gives him a small nod. “That is why I give you this courtesy.”

“What courtesy might that be?”

His casual disregard of her title is not insignificant; already he thinks her one of his Wardens. Stripped of position, given to a grim, hopeless task that will never be achieved.

“I have no intention of joining your order,” she tells him.

He says nothing for a time. Perhaps he, much like herself, experiences that exhaustion which thrums with restless energy--desperate for occupation, distraction, yet too weary to seek it. Elissa finds it difficult to pity him.

“Pardon me if I do not believe any child of Bryce Cousland could be an oathbreaker.”

Yesterday, the accusation would’ve set her blood boiling. She squints at the rising sun; it is a new day, and there is little use ruminating over what was.

“With all due respect, Warden,” she says, “I am not a thing that can be sworn.” She can see the words on her father’s lips as he bled out on the floor of the larder. She cannot stop seeing it. “My father’s oath to you, while sincere and well-intended, does not compel me to join you. The only power you possess over me is your physical advantage. And should you choose to exert it, know that I will not make it easy for you.”

He glances over; her eyes remain of the dirt path in front of her, bleary and unseeing. “That, I do believe,” he says. Still he watches her, and she tells herself it doesn’t matter what he sees. “Your house is known across Ferelden for its commitment to honor. Will you forswear that?”

“I spare no thought for your assumptions of me, Warden. I am grateful for your intervention at my estate, and I respect your concern for the darkspawn. But you have no claim on my life.”

“The Grey Wardens do retain the right of conscription,” he reminds her.

She regards him blankly. “You’ve not invoked it.”

“I rather hoped I wouldn’t need to.”

It strikes her again that she ought to be angry and isn’t. Instead she is surprised, though it only shows in the slightest twitch of her brow. “I may well be the last living Cousland,” she says. “And you’d risk the stability of Highever. You’d risk the chaos my disinheritance would cause.”

“To save Ferelden?” Their eyes meet. Here they stand facing each other on a long dirt road, and there is no right direction. “I would risk nearly anything.”

“You believe one woman could save Ferelden?”

“One Warden might.”

It’s an impossible thought. And yet she likes the idea of it, saving her country from the most terrible evil to befall the world in centuries. But she is not that woman. No one is that woman. It’s a delusion that only exists in fairytales and brave fools who die before their time.

“I can do more for Ferelden as a ruler than a soldier.” She’s never quite certain whether she believes this or simply prohibits herself from questioning it. It’s something of a circle, she thinks.

Elissa’s spent her whole life in circles. She talks in them, dances in them, thinks in them. It’s all some endless loop that feeds on itself, and she will never break it; she can’t.

“If the Blight goes unchecked,” says Duncan, “you will have nothing to rule.”

Only in this moment does Elissa recognize that she’s been waiting her entire life for an excuse.

She’d turn it all back if she could. She’d spend all her days in circles if only her family could be alive and safe. She’d make an appropriate marriage and bear children and teach them all the things she’s learned. She’d grow old in her family estate, doing her duty to blood and country.

It’s never sounded so much like a death sentence.


End file.
